


Finding Heaven

by QueenStrata (yodepalma)



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, La Divina Commedia | The Divine Comedy - Dante Alighieri
Genre: Crossover, Footnotes, M/M, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:39:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodepalma/pseuds/QueenStrata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, you have to go through Hell to find Heaven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fic being reposted from ff.net.
> 
> In trying to keep to the spirit of the original novel, there's one little footnote, but, alas! I can not do the nifty html on this site to make it easy to get to. At least it's a short story! :)

_Finding Heaven_

"I'm going to Hell."

Crowley very nearly spit out his drink. So very nearly, in fact, that Aziraphale reached over the table to wipe at the demon's mouth with a nearby cloth. Crowley grabbed his companion's hand and pulled it away from his face.

"You're _what_?" he asked disbelievingly. Aziraphale, going to Hell? It didn't make any sense at all. Unless Heaven had found out about their arrangement?(1) Crowley's human body paled at the thought. If _Heaven_ knew and Aziraphale was sent down to Dis, it wouldn't be long before Hell found out as well. And _then_ Crowley would wish he didn't exist.

Aziraphale stared at him for a few moments, surprised at his response (which was strong for Crowley) until he seemed to figure out just what was going through Crowley's mind. His face paled dramatically as well.

"Oh! No, no, I didn't meant _that_!" he gasped, tightly clenching Crowley's hand, which was still holding his own. "I haven't _Fallen_. Nothing to worry about. If I was going, I'd already be gone. Breathe, Crowley. _Breathe._ "

Crowley slowly let go of the breath he hadn't been holding, but continued to stare at Aziraphale with widened eyes. "Don't _scare_ me like that! Honestly, do you have any idea how hard it would be to explain that I lost this body because of a heart attack?"

"I don't think a heart attack would be so hard to explain," Aziraphale returned, brow furrowed in confusion.

"I meant explaining that I had it because of _you_."

"Oh. Right." Aziraphale blushed. "Anyway. I was called a few minutes ago—right before you got here, I mean—and you know, this seemed awfully important to the people Up There. They even gave me the key and some more...show-off power for this. I'll be gone for a few hours, so I thought you might like to know. That _is_ part of our agreement, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is," Crowley agreed. Then he suddenly realized that he and the angel were _holding hands_ and he jumped from his seat, dropping Aziraphale's hand as if it had suddenly been covered in holy water. "Right. I'll just go and see what I can do to counter this, shall I?"

Aziraphale sighed and nodded, returning his hand to its usual place in his lap. He looked very much like he wanted to cry. Crowley couldn't help but stare at him. Usually when somebody was crying, he wanted to laugh (or cheer on occasion, if someone was crying as a result of him doing a good job). But not with the angel. He would never admit it to anyone, but he'd become increasingly fond of Aziraphale and didn't particularly want him to be hurt.

"Be careful, angel," he said softly, mentally kicking himself for letting his concern show and wincing at the use of the word 'angel.' "Don't die on me now. I don't much fancy trying to get our arrangement going with anyone else."

"Thank you, Crowley. I'll be fine." Aziraphale gave him a brilliant smile that somehow made him appear more angelic than usual. Crowley found himself giving a rather hesitant smile back.

And then he fled, wondering when he'd gone so damned soft.

@-'---

Aziraphale desperately resisted the urge to do tricks as he flew his way to Hell. He hadn't flown in _years_ and Crowley was _finally_ starting to loosen up to him. It was good to be alive. It would have been great if he could just get someone else to do this trip to Hell for him. It would be very nice not to have to go through there, really.

But he was here already, prepared to fly through the gates of Hell. He took a deep breath to steady himself (having found it to be a good way of relieving tension), thought of just about everything the he liked about Earth, and then took off. He waved a bit to Charon as he went by, but very carefully dodged around everyone else. It was around the time he was avoiding Cerebus that he noticed his wings were hurting, but he ignored it.

He stopped suddenly just before he got to the marsh and miracled himself into proper angelic attire. Then he pulled out the wand he had been give to open Dis and stepped primly over the sludge. He waved at the disgusting vapors he was going through and wondered absently if he could talk Crowley into cleaning his wings for him when he returned. Probably not. He was so distrusting of everyone, even him. Just because he was an angel didn't mean he was _still_ going to take any chance he had to get rid of his opponent. It was against the arrangement.

Not that he would try to kill Crowley anyway. He liked the demon, probably a lot more than he should. _Definitely_ a lot more than he should. And sometimes, he could almost swear he was in love with the demon—and not in the way he was meant to be. As an angel, he was of course required to love everyone and everything unconditionally—he prided himself on being extraordinarily good at that—but even still, when forced to choose between saving a human (who probably didn't deserve it) and saving Crowley (who _certainly_ didn't deserve it), he would pick Crowley every time

Unless, of course, Crowley had done something to make him angry beforehand. Then he would probably save the human, just out of spite—a decidedly human notion if he'd ever heard of one. In fact, that had been the cause of Crowley's last discorporation, hadn't it? He didn't still owe the demon, did he? He really hoped not. Crowley would end up asking for something outrageous in return, if he did.

Then again, maybe he would be lucky and Crowley would be in a good mood. Good enough of a mood to take pity on him. It wasn't likely, of course, but making it to and from Dis had to mean something to someone who had actually lived in Hell.

Ah, and thinking of Dis...

He waved the wand at the gate, thought vaguely that it was really a very stupid way to open anything, and yelled some nonsense at the scattering demons about how they should stop resisting and something or other about Cerberus. Then he turned right around and made his way out as fast as he could. He couldn't wait to get back home—or to find Crowley.

The only thing he hadn't expected was to find Crowley waiting for him when he got back .He stood still, hand on the doorknob, and stared blankly at the demon sitting in his chair. _Aziraphale's_ chair, not Crowley's own. Now back in his human body, Aziraphale's heart did a funny little hop in his chest that made him want to giggle.

Are you going to come in or are you jusst going to sstand there and ssstare?" Crowley asked, the hiss putting Aziraphale on guard immediately. Crowley was very careful not to hiss, usually—humans tended to want to kill him when he did. Aziraphale slowly closed the door and walked inside. "Don't look ssso nervousssss, angel. I don't bite, you know."

"Maybe not," Aziraphale agreed warily. "But you usually don't hiss, either, so you'll have to excuse me for being nervous."

Crowley just stared at him for a moment before flicking out his suddenly snake-like tongue teasingly. Aziraphale glared at him. "Sorry, angel," Crowley grinned, not sounding sorry at all. "Didn't know the hissing bothered you so much."

"It wouldn't bother me at all if I'd ever heard you do it at a time you weren't in danger."

"There was that time in the Garden," Crowley pointed out.

"Yes, but you were a snake at the time. I don't think you could actually help _but_ hiss with that tongue."

Crowley didn't answer him.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Aziraphale asked curiously, walking over behind Crowley and leaning on the demon's slumped shoulders. "Shouldn't you still be out creating mayhem amongst the people? Not that I'm complaining about your being here or anything."

Crowley grumbled something under his breath to the table.

"Sorry?" Aziraphale queried.

"I said I was _worried_ about you!" Crowley snarled and slumped down even further. Aziraphale, blinking rapidly, followed the shoulders down and gawked at the back of Crowley's head. "I thought you might get caught or something and then—well. You know."

"Worried about me?" Aziraphale echoed dully. "Oh, Crowley... We all avoided each other down there, and the Fallen Angels _fled_ when I opened the doors. There was absolutely nothing to worry about!"

"Well there _might_ have been," Crowley argued stubbornly.

"There wasn't," Aziraphale returned firmly. "Still..."

"Still?"

"There's all that misery down there, you know? And it never even occurred to me before, but it's so much worse down there than it is up here, but there's no...no _good_ down there to counter it. And it's just an all-around dirty and disgusting place to be. I haven't used my wings in so long that they started hurting by the time I got to Cerberus—and that was going _down_. Not to mention that they must be absolutely _filthy_ now. And I can't just miracle the refuse from Hell off of them, can I? How long does it take to clean all of that off, anyway?"

"Hours," Crowley answered automatically.

"I'd better get to it then," Aziraphale sighed and moved off in the direction of his bedroom. He could feel Crowley's eyes watching him as he made his way through the room.

"Aziraphale..." the demon eventually began, sounding uncertain. Aziraphale turned to look at him curiously. "I...let me do it for you, okay? Just this once, though, and I want something when I'm done."

"What do you want?" Aziraphale asked, though he'd already decided against being cautious. He really didn't feel like doing it himself, to be perfectly honest.

"You'll find out later, won't you?" Crowley smirked in reply. Aziraphale just rolled his eyes.

"Come on," he said and disappeared into his room.

By the time Crowley actually wandered in, Aziraphale was already sitting cross-legged on his bed, wings out and waiting. Crowley climbed on behind the angel, wondered briefly why he even _had_ a bed, since he obviously only used it to clean his wings, and then slowly ran his fingers across several feathers. He couldn't help but grin when a shiver ran through Aziraphale's body.

@-'---

He had been right, of course. Cleaning off the gunk that had accumulated on Aziraphale's wings had taken hours—three to be exact. It probably would have only taken about two hours if Crowley hadn't been enjoying himself so much. Aziraphale would sigh or shiver on occasion, depending on how Crowley handled the feathers, and every so often the angel would let out a startled yelp that made Crowley snicker.

He eventually finished, however, and leaned back on his hands to admire his work. He had to be proud of himself. The angel's wings, in his opinion, had never looked so good. Or, at any rate, hadn't looked so good since he'd been in the Garden.

"Are you done, then?" Aziraphale asked him.

"Yeah, I'm done," Crowley replied softly. Aziraphale immediately turned around to face him, and the two just sat and stared at each other for a few minutes.

"What was it you wanted, then?" Aziraphale eventually asked.

Crowley hesitated. His plan had seemed great at first—perfect, in fact—but now that he was faced with putting it in action, he wasn't so sure about it. What if Aziraphale reacted as badly as he expected? He wasn't sure he could stand loosing the angel, not after five thousand long years of being the only permanent fixture in Crowley's long life.

He agonized over the decision for a minute before Aziraphale, with a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes, moved himself into Crowley's lap. The demon's mouth dropped open.

"Honestly, dear, you'd think it wasn't _obvious_ ," Aziraphale said before he enthusiastically kissed Crowley.

And, at long last, a demon found its way all the way back to heaven.

(1) It hadn't existed quite long enough to attain the capital letter yet. Two hundred and eighty years wasn't much time, after all.


End file.
